Christmas Time
by OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles
Summary: Surrounded by the constant reminder of time passing, Arthur and Eames decide that they don't need to spend Christmas alone.


**Christmas Time**

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Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or the characters

Pairing: Arthur/Eames

Notes: I wrote this for an AE Holiday Bang prompt but forgot to post it on FFnet. Enjoy some belated holiday cheer :)

Summary: Surrounded by the constant reminder of time passing, Arthur and Eames decide that they don't need to spend Christmas alone.

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Arthur stepped out of the rain and into the hotel, shrugging off his soaked coat in the elevator. He didn't mind the cold of winter, but he didn't like the way the weather tag-teamed him; rain drenching him and leaving him vulnerable to the wind's vicious fancy. Everyone had been expecting snow by now, Christmas just a few days away, but instead they were being treated to a treacherous blend of rain and ice.

Arthur shuddered as the elevator began its ascent, his body chilled. It took the sixteen story climb for Arthur to be able to start feeling his fingers again, watching his knuckles turn from red to white as he curled them. Even though he was not new to winter's chill, Arthur was considering heading south this year for Christmas.

It was quiet in the rented hotel room when Arthur stepped in. He knew Ariadne had gone out to do some Christmas shopping, the job slow and the weather not enough to deter her from venturing outdoors when she got bored. Arthur wasn't expecting her back for a few hours when they would get dinner.

Arthur was a bit confused by the silence of the room since he had left Eames here to work. But his silent question was answered when Arthur found Eames on the couch, seated with his body lax and head tilted back. His eyes were closed and his hands were palm up on his thighs, the sharp metal of the IV catching the lamp light.

Arthur hung up his coat and considered walking to his desk to work, but found his footsteps slowing as he passed the couch. No one would ever praise Arthur's intuition when it came to others' emotions – he could study everything about a person, know them inside and out, and still struggle to read their expressions. But Eames had been surrounded by a heavy air of sadness since they met up for this job a week ago and even Arthur had noticed.

It wasn't his business, Arthur told himself. As long as Eames did his job Arthur didn't really care what the man was feeling, or why. He took another step past the couch but paused again, eyes trained on Eames' face. Arthur could see it, now more than ever, and he wondered if something had changed or if it was just because Eames' mask fell away in sleep.

Eames' eyebrows were furrowed slightly, his large lips curled down. And even though Arthur had never really taken the time to study Eames' face like this before, he thought that maybe Eames looked tired, worn down. Arthur's eyes traced down Eames' arm until he reached the metal buried beneath skin, and then continued to trace the lead back to the dream device on the coffee table in front of the couch.

His eyes caught a glimmer of gold beside the silver briefcase and Arthur moved closer. There was an old-fashioned pocket watch placed carefully on the polished wood of the table. The detail in the metal was old but the watch was polished and well cared for, the intricate minute hand ticking by softly but surely. Arthur realized he had been reaching for the pocket watch and stilled his hand, leaving it hovering over the watch with a frown on his face.

He had seen Eames fidgeting with this watch frequently over the last few days. Arthur remembered the watch – it was a personal treasure Eames always carried with him – but Arthur had never seen it studied as frequently as it had been on this job. Eames had checked the watch too frequently to only be checking the time. Arthur was curious about its significance but felt unwilling to disturb its resting place.

Instead he unwound a second lead from the dream device and sat beside Eames on the couch. Arthur hesitated for a moment, needle against his skin. Would he be unwelcome in Eames' dream? Arthur didn't know if the Forger was practicing or dreaming for another reason. But Arthur's curiosity burned, joined by the sting of his pierced skin he felt for one beat of his heart before he fell into darkness.

When he opened his eyes Arthur found himself in London, England, standing at the base of the Big Ben clock tower. Normally when he woke up in a cityscape he would struggle to determine where to look for the dreamer, but today the pocket watch had been all he needed; a hint even though Arthur doubted Eames expected a visitor. He entered the base of the tower and found the stairs.

The security guards on the main floor cast suspicious eyes to Arthur but didn't stop or pursue him; Arthur passed without challenge. He lost count of the floors he climbed, though his legs never tired. It felt like forever and no time at all at the same time when he finally reached the top, surrounded by the four fogged-glass clock faces. Cogs worked around him, inevitably circling again and again to keep the minute hands traveling the clock faces.

It wasn't hard to find Eames; the silhouette of his form visible through the west-facing clock face. If this was reality Arthur would have felt his stomach drop, but they were in a dream and he knew Eames was in no real danger. Arthur found a small service door on the side of the clock – likely Eames' creation – and climbed out onto a small rickety metal platform that stretched over to the clock face.

Arthur glanced through the metal grates to the London streets far below, swallowed, and looked back to the clock face. He saw Eames there, lounging on the hour hand with his back against the circular support in the centre of the timepiece. The clock was reading three o'clock, the sun beginning to sink towards the horizon as the minute hand swept around its never-ending path. Arthur would have feared Eames getting knocked off from his perch but the minute hand passed behind him, brushing his arm but not dislodging him.

Eames saw him immediately but made no move to greet him. He merely raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. "How did you know I'd be here?"

Arthur stepped to the edge of the platform, feeling it sway under his weight. He held Eames' gaze. "It wasn't hard. You've been fiddling with that pocket watch of yours."

Eames nodded and turned to study the city, saying no more. Eames looked sad and withdrawn and Arthur wondered if he was intruding, but he had come this far and something told him to stay. Without showing the way his hands were shaking, Arthur clamoured up onto the hour hand and sat down, facing Eames and drawing his attention again.

"What do you want, Arthur?" Eames asked, tired rather than upset. "I came here to be alone."

"Do you want me to leave?" Arthur offered.

Eames turned away to the city again. "...No."

Arthur watched the city too, confused by the fluttering of his heart. Buildings and streetlamps were done up with Christmas decorations and snow drifted lazily from the sky, though Arthur didn't feel the chill. Christmas carols drifted up to his ears on the breeze and he could only think of how beautiful the scene was.

"What's with the clocks?" Arthur asked eventually, curious as always.

"I've been thinking a lot about the past," Eames said. "And the future."

Arthur looked up to study the elaborate detail Eames had put into the clock face and the hands, and then back to the Forger. "I can appreciate the symbolism."

Eames offered him a half-smile, though it faded again quickly. "Why are you here?"

Arthur shrugged uncomfortably. Eames had a right to question him; they weren't exactly best friends. But just because they bickered and didn't always agree on jobs didn't mean Arthur enjoyed seeing Eames sad. Nor had it crushed his desire to understand Eames, or to feel more connected to the man. He respected Eames, and trusted him; he couldn't say that about many people.

"I was worried about you," he admitted. "And curious."

Eames pursed his lips, reading Arthur with far more skill than Arthur could boast in return. Then Eames nodded, like he had decided something for himself. "Christmas was always my favourite holiday. I got to come home from school and see my family. They were always crazy but I loved them." Eames' laugh was stolen by the wind. "I miss that," he sighed quietly.

"What happened?" Arthur dared to ask.

"They think I'm dead," Eames said. "And that's the way it'll stay," he added. "I'm sure you understand." Arthur nodded; he did understand. This profession was dangerous, and it was easier to watch your family move on without you rather than watch them be hurt or killed. "I don't mind most of the time; I made that choice a long time ago. But it's hardest at Christmas. I get lost in memories that hurt more than comfort now."

"You've never gone back?" Arthur wondered. Arthur had never gone back, knowing it could never make him happy. If his family was struggling Arthur would feel guilty, and if they were happy he would feel abandoned. There was no way to win such situation, so he avoided it.

"I went back once to watch from afar," Eames told him. "Big mistake. You'd think I had never existed."

"I'm sure they spoke about you in private, if not in public," Arthur tried to reassure. He wouldn't draw attention to it, but he could see the tears trickling down Eames' cheeks. "I'm sure they miss you as much as you miss them."

"I'm sure," Eames agreed. "But it's a sad thing to know your memory causes someone pain. I've moved on, but I've never found anything similar. I always seem to be alone for Christmas and I can't tell if it's my own doing or not. But it leaves me wondering if I'll always be alone, if I'll sacrifice everyone I love to keep them safe and watch time slip by alone."

Arthur felt his own eyes sting with tears, his heart clenching painfully. He had thought they had little in common but he was wrong. Many of Eames' worries were Arthur's as well. Together they feared the inevitable pass of time and a life alone. Arthur's lips quirked up. There was something ironic about that; fearing loneliness together.

"I was thinking of heading somewhere warm for Christmas," Arthur said. "Maybe you could join me."

Eames looked at him sharply, surprised. "I don't understand your sudden interest. We've never been close. I always thought I drove you crazy."

"You do." Arthur's smile was fond. "But that doesn't mean I don't care. And I think I've unfairly judged you before now. I'd like a chance to correct that mistake."

Eames opened his mouth but before he could speak Big Ben tolled four times and the hour hand slid down the clock face with a mechanical jolt. Unprepared, Arthur lost his seating and toppled backwards. His stomach gave a terrified lurch before Arthur caught the hand, hands burning at the contact of skin to cold metal.

Eames was there in an instant, teetering as he crouched and gripped Arthur's wrists. Arthur was dead weight though, refusing to help. His arms were screaming but he waited for Eames to meet his gaze. "Stop sulking here alone and come back with me," he demanded.

Eames stared at him, then smiled widely. "I'd love to." Eames held him more tightly and then allowed Arthur's weight to pull him forward, over the edge and down. They fell together into darkness and for the first time, instead of a sickening drop during the kick Arthur felt warmth wrap around them and he felt the sensation of floating. They woke up together in reality, seated on the couch with Arthur's head resting on Eames' shoulder and neither of them felt the need to move.

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